


a fire of devotion

by sansapotter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansapotter/pseuds/sansapotter
Summary: He scanned her over curiously, brows lifted in surprise. Sansa fussed, pulling at the hem of the t-shirt. “You were home early,” she said by way of apology.“I didn’t even know you owned sweats.” Jon said, sighing what was almost a laugh.





	a fire of devotion

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a prompt at [jonsa-creatives](https://www.jonsa-creatives.tumblr.com) "Jon loves that Sansa is always dressed up so nicely, but one day he sees her in pyjamas/sweats/… and is incredibly turned on by the sight."

Sansa’s heart raced as the doorknob jiggled, the scrape of the key trying to find home in the lock. It was only ten, Jon wasn’t due home from work for hours, and yet there he was, tossing his keys on the table cautiously. It would have been too conspicuous to dart to their room to change, but the thought flashed through her mind.

“You’re home early,”

The rolling of a drawer, followed swiftly by the clang of silverware being removed. The counter was littered with her take-out, and he inspected the lids to see what they contained. “They were being dramatic. When Jeor was in charge they would drag inventory out for the overtime.”

“And you weren’t having it?”

“I had Sansa Stark waiting at home for me.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a sweet thing to consider. “She got me Szechuan chicken even though I wasn’t supposed to be home until one.” He walked over to the couch and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” She rested her chin on her shoulder watching him make his way around the couch to sit beside her. He scanned her over curiously, brows lifted in surprise. Sansa fussed, pulling at the hem of the t-shirt. “You were home early,” she said by way of apology.

“I didn’t even know you owned sweats.” Jon said, sighing what was almost a laugh.

Sansa knew for a fact he was unaware of this particular item of clothing. He had seen her in yoga pants before, and athletic shorts on those summer days too hot to run in leggings. It was deliberate; sweatpants were not glamorous, all her other boyfriends hated them because she wasn’t trying. That’s why they were dating her wasn’t it? They wanted a pretty girl who would make them happy. That wasn’t why Jon didn’t know about them, well not entirely. She wanted him to know she was trying, that she thought he was worth trying for.

“I’m usually not wearing much when you get home,” she gave him a coy look. “I thought that was your favorite.”

“Everything you wear, or don’t wear happens to be my favorite.” Jon said, abandoning the carton of food in favor of easing her against the arm of the couch.

“There’s no way you’re turned on by this,” Sansa rested her hands against his shoulders, not believing him for a moment. Jon pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, rubbing his thumb against her temple. “I don’t even have anything cute on underneath,” she protested with a breathless laugh as his hand slipped up the ratty t-shirt.

“I think we’ve had this conversation before.” She felt his teeth against her neck, the pads of his fingers slipping over the decidedly plain cups of her bra. The first time she slept over, long before they moved in together, it wasn’t a planned sleepover and she forgot her makeup. There wasn’t even a tube of mascara in her bag. Sure, Jon had seen her without it before, when he was just her brother’s best friend, but she’d never, _never_ , been around a boy she was dating before without it.

“I like dressing up for you,” Sansa arched into his hand as it slid beneath the cup of the bra. “This is different.”

“You could be wearing a pillowcase as a dress, and I’d be as into you just as much as I’m into you in that stocking and garter getup you like so much.” That get up was without question what she looked best in, if she did say so herself. She appreciated it so much that she bought a few different sets. “If you’re so bothered you could just take this off,” he suggested, already trying to work the overlarge sweatpants off her thighs. 

The panties were lined with lace, but that was only because the store she shopped at didn’t sell them without. Full coverage, just the bottom of her bum peeked out from the bottom, but the way Jon’s breath came, heavy and labored, one might have thought she was wearing the ones from her garter set. The next kiss made her ache,   
Jon pressed right against her, his jeans rough on her bare thighs; his mouth opened against hers, and he hissed in surprise when her teeth bit at his lip, her nails dragging across his back, holding him to her.

He pulled away, looking at her with darkened eyes, smiling. He traced at her lips through her underwear, “do you want me to?”

“I just want you inside me,” she met his eyes.

“C’mere,” Jon hefted her up, pulling her into his lap. His hair was a mess when she pulled his sweatshirt over his head, she laughed in the curve of his neck, feeling his arms shift to work his hair back into it’s preferred chaos. “I love hearing you laugh.”

“I never thought I would in the throes of passion.” She worked at the button of his jeans, her hand slipped into his boxers. Her thumb ran over the head of his cock, dragging the precum down to the base, “I just want to take these off.” Jon jerked himself as she shimmied her panties down her legs, before she knelt above him again. When he was finally inside her Sansa leaned her elbows against the top of the couch, Jon’s hands steadied her hips as she rocked to find a rhythm that suited them.

In the background the TV was a soft accompaniment to their sawing breaths. Sansa’s hands slid into his hair, dragging her nails against his scalp, pressing absent open-mouthed kisses to the corner of his jaw. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, I’m always going to want you, stubborn girl.”

“Your girl,”

“My girl,” he agreed. Sansa took one of his hands from her hips, and took two of his fingers into her mouth.

“Make your girl come Jon Snow.” Sansa clutched at his hair, feeling the firm press of his fingers against her, moving just the way she liked. Her hips rocked, and dragged, moving faster and erratically. “ _Please, please, please,_ ” although she never had to beg, she found the pleas slipping from her lips every time, and Jon never let her down. His shoulder was sweaty under her cheek, she tried to keep rhythm with him until he huffed out a long breath and traced gentle circuits down her spine.

“Will you wear those again?” Jon asked against the swell of her breasts where she imagined her heart still raced against his cheek.

“I’ll keep them in mind next time there’s a special occasion.” Sansa laughed, running her fingers down his neck.

“That’s all I ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> and I'm on [tumblr](https://www.sansapotter.tumblr.com). Title is from a Florence + the Machine song called What Kind of Man.


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